


...fallen for a friend

by xxjxxc



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: College, FWB, Fade to Black, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Language, Modern AU, Pining, References to Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxjxxc/pseuds/xxjxxc
Summary: Jean and Marco are roommates and tumbled into a friends with benefits situation, but it's getting out of hand. Marco doubts he can do this much longer, but he wishes that instead of letting Jean go, he could hold him closer...Could he?
Relationships: Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40
Collections: JeanMarco Gift Exchange 2019





	...fallen for a friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsallaboutflowermetaphors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallaboutflowermetaphors/gifts).



> Dear itsallaboutflowermetaphors, 
> 
> Happy holidays! 
> 
> Going from your prompts, I wrote you a FWB relationship getting tangled up in stronger emotions. It's not a theme I am familiar with, but I enjoyed the new challenge and tried to give it some sexy vibes. I struggled, but I hope you like it <3
> 
> To everyone who celebrates, happy holidays and all of the best for 2020!

Jean had become so familiar to Marco. It had become so easy to grab him, draw him close, close his eyes and feel whether or not Jean was responding to him. Marco rolled his hips to the beat, a gasp escaping him at the perfect way Jean’s fit against his own. Jean let his head fall forward, hot breath on Marco's neck, kissing a trail of impatient kisses up Marco’s throat and finally capturing his mouth.

Jean was a ridiculously sexy dancer and an incredibly sexy lover. He let the moment take him, let it seep into his agile body and guide him in a way that was utterly hypnotic.

And he was Marco's to please. 

The excitement never wore off, no matter how often this happened. Between them, there was no pressure. Marco could do what he wanted, try what he wanted, knowing that Jean would never judge him and be straight up about it if something wasn't working for him. It was so uncomplicated and it was exactly that knowledge that made Marco bolder in his actions, gave him confidence he didn’t know he had, made him discover things neither of them would have expected. 

Jean brought it out in him. Jean had no qualms admitting his debatable life choices, no reserve admitting he did half of it out of sheer curiosity, and his absolute lack of shame somehow helped Marco throw his own restraints out of the window. Not to mention that Jean had those eyes; those sharp, intelligent, searching eyes that told Marco not to hide anything from him, to give and take with all he had.

With the way things had started off, in the early stages, Marco had been unsure, wondering if he could even do this more than once without his mind running amok. 

It had almost been a year now. 

But it wasn't the way it was supposed to be anymore. 

Jean broke the kiss, briefly returning his attention to Marco’s jawline as he disentangled their limbs, steadying himself on his legs. Marco could feel Jean look at him; didn't need to look back to know what Jean was about to say, didn't need to see him to know the heavy, lusty, delicious look in his eyes.

"Wanna get out of here?"

"Let's go."

* * *

The first time had been in early December. It had been cold, dark and late. Marco had been sitting on his bed, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, lazy eyes following Jean around the room as he finished putting some chairs in front of them as a makeshift table for his laptop and the drinks he prepared. 

It was also that night Marco learned Jean's bartending experience wasn’t limited to crazy, ridiculously alcoholic beverages, but extended to rich, stellar coffee. 

It was just early enough in the season that the stress of approaching finals hadn't fully kicked in yet and late enough for everything to be plastered with advertisements of sappy holiday movies. It was no surprise then that they were having a lazy Saturday night in, and it was no surprise that some semi-old Christmas drama started playing on the screen. 

Before long, Marco was rolling his eyes and wondering why he had ever thought the movie title sounded good. Hands around a warm cup of creamy, strong coffee, his mind had long drifted from the poor screenplay and found comfort in the homely winter night. Marco could tell that Jean was about as interested as himself. Putting his empty cup aside, Jean slouched further down against the wall, shoulder pressing into Marco's arm, barely managing to keep his eyelids from falling shut. 

Amused, Marco turned to him. "Boring?" 

"Predictable." Jean mumbled, "I forgot how cheesy Christmas romances got. This is the second time she accidentally runs into that guy. She should be giving him her number this instant or she'll never see him again." Jean’s tone got increasingly annoyed as he spoke, increasingly engaged in his movie frustration. When the leading lady on screen took a call and said she had to go, turning to leave without further explaining a thing to the love interest, Jean dramatically threw his arms up. "Don’t go! You'll never see him again!" 

Laughing at the theatrical antics, Marco had to put his drink away to avoid spilling it on his bed. “We can turn it off and choose something else.” 

“Nah. Let it play.” Jean shrugged, adjusting his position so he could face Marco more easily, a knee knocking against his in the process. “Have you never had that happen to you?” Jean asked. Marco raised his eyebrows, not sure what the question referred to. “That you were talking to someone, but you don’t know how to ask for their contact information, so you just leave and not even a minute later you are regretting it with all of your soul.” 

“Yeah,” Marco huffed dejectedly, “That’s totally happened.” 

“See? That’s what happens in real life.” Jean rolled his eyes, slapping his palm onto the mattress in emphasis of his point. “Which is why I decided to stop giving a shit about what other people think. If I think he looks hot, I’m going to be asking him out.” 

“I wish it was that easy.” 

“It is. Kick yourself in the ass and go.” 

“It’s not. I don’t work like that.”

“Is it the risk of rejection?”

Marco considered it. He wasn’t exactly sure, but he might as well dig a hole and not come out for a few days if someone turned him down in semi public. “I suppose. And I would rather not bother anyone.” 

“And in clubs?" Jean gave him a look, "Ever picked someone up?”

Ah. Now that was different. “That, yes.”

“You have?” Jean asked, and Marco couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t see himself do it either, until he had done it. 

He nodded. 

“Actually, I’m not surprised,” Jean amended, eyes darting up and down Marco’s frame, giving him another pointed look once back at his face. “It must come easy. You're hot.” 

Marco shrugged. He didn't know what to say to that. 

"It wasn't too hard." 

“Marco Bott, I’m getting so much dirt on you. You can kiss your pristine reputation goodbye.” Jean slapped him on the knee, teasing him with a grin and a squeeze. It was something he had said before, on one of the first weekends they had spent as roommates and they had played Never Have I Ever as a stupid way to get to know each other. “Ever done a friends with benefits sort of deal?”

Marco shook his head. “Can’t say I have.”

“Would you?” 

“Not sure. For what I heard, it tends to get feelings mixed up,”

“It’s really quite much like a regular relationship,” Jean offered casually, “You have to communicate.”

Jean spoke so certainly of all of this, as if it made perfect sense to him. He always did. It was evident that Jean was a tad more sexually liberated than Marco was, but with the off hand manner in which Jean brought it up, Marco felt more or less at ease doing the same in return. “Speaking from experience?”

“Yeah. Worked fine for me,” Jean answered. “We ended it last year, but we’re still on good terms.” 

Marco nodded. It seemed impressive, but he really had no point of reference. He had no idea what it was like, but he took Jean’s word. 

What he did have reference for, and what was really impressive, to Marco, at least, was that Jean kept on speaking as if the world wasn’t out there to judge him. Everything he said was a simple fact, bits of Jean's life that other people had no business questioning. It was something Marco hoped to learn, and sitting here, having these conversations out loud with Jean, he felt like he was making an improvement. 

Jean spoke again, “Never have I ever fallen for a friend?”

Marco huffed. It had become some odd habit to throw each other a few questions when bored, drinks at hand or not. It had worked for them quite well, in a way, quickly taking out the kind of basic information they could otherwise have awkwardly danced around for months. It had for some reason been hilarious to find out that they were both into men, Jean laughing at the irony of the randomized system putting them together, and ever since it had been nothing but natural to share stories. 

“Ouch. Not quite fallen in love, but I had a crush on a sexy straight friend once.”

“Tragic classic,” Jean commented.

“Never have I ever slept with a friend.”

“I just told you I did.”

“Drink.” Marco pointed at his abandoned cup of coffee. 

Jean took it without question, wrinkling his nose. “Hm. Getting cold. Never have I ever…” he paused, thinking, “hated the taste of a kiss.” 

Marco made a face, reaching out his hand for the cup Jean held. Jean offered it back to him. 

"Not bothered sharing, I see."

"Hey," Marco shrugged, "Now we taste the same." 

"Is it?" Jean questioned, eyebrows shooting up. He leaned forward where he sat, suddenly appearing super interested in what Marco had to say for himself. He seemed to find a connotation there that Marco hadn’t been aware he spoke with, but Marco felt the air shift; felt it grow heavy and tense within mere seconds. 

"It is."

"Is it?" Jean repeated, less surprised and more purposeful, and as a hand laid on Marco’s cheek and tilted his chin, that was his last moment to escape. 

"It is," Marco whispered, full well expecting Jean to do exactly what he did next. Jean crossed the last bit of distance between them, drawing Marco’s bottom lip between his own, and Marco automatically leaned closer. He put the cup of coffee aside again, briefly having to part ways with Jean, but he made sure it didn't last any longer than necessary. It was nothing too intense; careful, testing the waters, but the moment Marco shuffled closer and put a hand on Jean's leg, he had sealed his own fate. His thoughts were wiped clear in an instant, getting lost in the feeling of Jean; his hands, his mouth, the movement of muscle under Marco's touch and the soft sounds of approval. 

As Jean gave the gentlest push against Marco’s chest, urging him to lie back, he spoke in hushed words against his lips. “There’s a golden rule,” he began, shivers running down Marco’s spine at the sensuality of it. Jean was encouraging but far from demanding, still leaving the choice to Marco. His head was full of _yes, yes, yes_. “You can always withdraw your consent. At any point.” Jean paused, waiting for it to sink in. “Got it?”

“Got it.”

"Good." Jean kissed him again, more certainty in is movement, more determination in his touch, and Marco let him lead him into the depths of desire. 

* * *

Jean had become much more than his roommate, and much more than his fuck buddy. 

Jean was his friend. The two of them were comfortable with each other. They always enjoyed time together. 

Jean was an intimate friend, in more senses than one. The two of them regularly expanded the horizon of what they were comfortable to share with each other. They put value and effort into spending time together, planned or not. 

Or at least, Marco did. 

Maybe Marco should have taken the hint that things were going too far when he went through the effort to ensure that he could live with Jean in the dorms this year, too.

Just as Marco couldn’t pinpoint exactly when his inhibitions began to wear away, he couldn’t pinpoint exact when the lines began to blur. There was no sense of change. It was just there; suddenly, arriving with a crash of realisation at the most random thoughts. 

It was when Marco had been looking at his electives for the upcoming semester, when he realised that it would be the last semester at college if all went well, that he also realised Jean and himself would likely be separated. It was then that he realised the whole point of their relationship would come apart; the physical closeness, the convenience, it would no longer be there. They would move to different areas and contact would lessen, would eventually just stop. Jean would look for the next best person. 

And it was then that Marco realised he didn't want any of that. 

It was then that Marco first thought that maybe even friendship was too little to cover what he felt. 

To Marco, Jean deserved more than this. Jean deserved care and dedication, but Jean didn’t seem to be looking for any of that. 

“Are you ready?” Jean waited for him by the door, big grin on his face and almost bouncing on his feet. They were heading for a yearly fantasy fair; something Jean, Armin and Mikasa had been excited to go to, but Marco honestly didn’t understand much of. It didn’t matter. Neither did Eren. Marco did as he was told, found the nerdiest clothes he could put together at the last minute- it was apparently etiquette to dress up, even though none of them had had the time to truly prepare something nice, and headed out. 

Jean smiling like a million bucks was worth more than anything. 

“Ready.”

Marco had never been to a fair, but it turned out a lot of fun. People did indeed dress up, some of them undoubtedly having spend hours and days to put together the most amazing outfits. There were stands everywhere, and Marco didn't know where to look first. 

Jean pulled at his arm at some point, not saying anything, but just sharing a big smile.

Jean had taught him about a lot of things. Sometimes sexual. Sometimes plain nerdy. 

It was easy to assume Jean was a free spirited punk; fearless, careless and depthless. Nothing was further from the truth.

Marco admired Jean for a lot of things. He was mature and empathetic, confident and determined. Jean majored in history and loved a good story, following his own interests and falling again and again for the workings of action and reaction. He could work out multiple scenarios at once, and they weren’t always right, but they always offered options and a way forward. 

"Armin." Jean reached out to the shorter blond, drawing his attention to where Jean and Marco stood in front of a board game display. "Armin, he's never heard of Dungeons & Dragons. Never _heard_ of," he emphasised with a shake of his head, "I don't think he can be our friend." 

"Jean, he had never seen Lord of the Rings and Star Wars until you made him." 

"Fair point." Jean put his hands on his hips, huffing with a feigned haughty sneer. He was the total picture now; dressed in old, faded jeans and a wide shirt, smears of makeup representing dirt on his face, Jean looked genuinely like a pirate mocking him. It would have made Marco feel insecure if not for the entirely playful glint in Jean's eyes. "I've done him a favour." 

A poorly faked cough sounded. "More than one," Eren said, swiftly walking on as he conveniently passed them. 

People knew. Not a lot, but their closest friends were bound to figure something out. It became obvious that they were in tune with each other, too aware of likes and dislikes and unspoken language.

Maybe that should have been a hint, too. 

"We all know you fuck this freak," Eren had one day clarified, boisterously, jabbing a thumb in the direction of Jean, "so there must be something wrong with you, too." 

"Say it louder, Yeager," Jean had snapped back, and for a moment, Marco been terrified that Eren actually would. There was an endless rivalry between Jean and Eren, one that could drive them to do crazy things, but Eren stuck up a finger and dropped the matter. 

It didn't matter that people knew.

It just hurt sometimes. 

It hurt when Marco was reminded that they were in fact only messing around, that it wasn’t anything serious, that even thought Jean wasn't ashamed, it was something not everyone should know. 

It hurt when, at the end of the day, the first thing Jean wanted was him, but Marco could feel that Jean was keeping a part of himself out of reach. 

“Never have I ever undressed a pirate, huh?” Jean looked at him with eyes full of wit and smugness, grin matching in its self-satisfaction. He didn't move, comfortably letting Marco do whatever he wanted, but there was no sign of submission in his posture.

God, Jean was beautiful. 

Marco tried hard to kill the giddiness his guts.

“You still look ridiculous.” 

“I look beyond doable and you know it." Jean reached for Marco's arms, halting them in the process of undoing a his buttons, slowly but firmly pulling him closer until Jean all but kissed him. “You’re about to do me.” 

"Fuck yes," Marco confirmed, voice dropping to a whisper, no longer stopping to think about it as he crashed their mouths together, sealing Jean's lips with hunger and ferocity. Jean's response was immediate. His hands shot up to Marco’s shoulders, firm and demanding as his entire body pressed into Marco. A moan of approval sounded in the back of his throat as Marco tugged his shirt from his pants and let the two halves fall open, warm hands running over hot skin. 

"Come on, wizard boy," Jean whispered, breath ghosting over the sensitive spot just below Marco's ear as he took hold of the Hufflepuff scarf around Marco’s neck, guiding him to a cold, waiting bed. 

* * *

The problem wasn’t Jean. The problem had never been Jean. 

The problem was Marco. Jean had always been clear about what he wanted and expected, but Marco was afraid to speak up. The first thing Jean had assured him of was his ability to quit any time it didn’t feel right anymore, but Marco was too afraid to do that.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Thinking back, maybe Marco should have known right from the start. Maybe he should have looked at Jean; smart, brash, witty and gorgeous, and known that this would happen. But Marco thought he would be fine. Marco thought he could do this, keep it under control, just remind himself of the reality and prevent any feelings from getting in the way. And he could. For a while. 

The agreement was clear between them. Marco may have been embarrassed to answer at times, but Jean’s blunt honesty really had taught him that speaking the truth prevented so many problems. There had been many firsts for Marco, but he had never once felt that Jean crossed his limits, simply because Jean had asked him where they were and Marco had gathered the courage to tell him. After a couple of times, the novelty faded away, and all of the sudden, the embarrassment was gone. All of the sudden, there was confidence and security in its place. 

This was another first Marco had to learn to handle. It would get better. 

The one year mark had passed. Maybe it was time to let this go. Maybe there was a time limit for Marco, a limit to how long he could be with someone without automatically feeling a sort of potentially misguided romantic attraction, even if Jean could do it forever. 

They weren't the same. Marco knew Jean would respect that. 

Marco sighed. What would happen if he said it? He could tell Jean how he felt, and they could agree it was simply time to stop. They could remain as friends. They could move on, take what they learned from one another, and live better for it.

It could ruin everything. It could make things complicated and uncomfortable. It could end their friendship even sooner than graduation would separate them.

Marco would hate to lose Jean as a friend over this. 

The door to the dorm room shut and Marco opened his eyes, but he couldn’t be bothered to look up. He recognised those footsteps and the rustling of a jacket. It was Jean. 

Not more than a few minutes later, the bed near Marco’s legs dipped with the weight of another person. Marco could feel Jean studying him. 

“What are you moping about?” 

Marco opened his eyes again, lifting his head ever so slightly to look at Jean. “Nothing big. Just a stupid project for my photography class,” he sighed, propping himself up on his elbows. He didn't meet Jean's eyes, just in case he could see that Marco was thinking on his feet. "My original idea was torn down. I have to start over." 

“Could I distract you from that?” Jean asked, voice lower, breathier as he leaned into Marco's space.

Marco still refused to meet his eyes. "Not right now. I need to get my focus on." 

Effortlessly, Jean dropped the innuendo again. “Anything I can do to help with that?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” Marco shook his head, smiling in thanks and finally chancing a glance at Jean. His eye caught on the wet strands of Jean’s hair. “Is it snowing out?” 

“Not anymore. There’s a nice fresh layer on the ground, though.” Jean followed Marco’s gaze, looking out the window as if to check whether his statement was still accurate. “Feel like going for a walk?” 

When Marco looked back at Jean, his eyes were alight with new energy, smile a little devious. “You own a lot of black clothes, don’t you?” 

“Yes…” 

“Can you put on some nice ones? But ones you wouldn’t mind getting snow on.” 

“What?”

“You want to help me out with the project?” Jean still had confusion written all over his face, but he nodded hesitantly. “Model for me.”

Jean’s eyebrows rose. “Model? Me?”

“You’ll be fine. I got this.” 

Pausing for a moment longer, Jean saw the certainty, the awakened fire in Marco's eyes, and nodded. “Alright. Sure.” He turned to his closet, pulling it open with new determination. “Define your idea of nice clothes.” 

While Jean rummaged through his closet, Marco briefed him on the project and his idea for it. The assignment was to capture a contrast seen in daily life, the same person or the same object in a set of two pictures, using a contrast of lighting or colours to enhance the concept. Broad as the theme was, inspiration came flooding in at the thought of white snow and the sight of Jean in a black band shirt. He buzzed with the energy, a wave of creativity washing over him. 

Looking out of the window, Marco saw the perfect sparkle of the untouched snow and immediately felt the excitement rising, itching to check out the clearing in the woods and the open sport fields. If he could try and get the difference between natural and artificial light… 

Marco was pulled back from his thoughts.

“How do I look?” 

“Perfect.”

Jean had dressed fully in black, from expensive skinny jeans to a quality shirt and jacket. It wasn't an every day look, going well beyond casual daily dress, but not near formal dress either. It had that distinct goth quality, those details that most people didn't dare to put on, but Jean absolutely rocked it. Jean looked like he was walking on the fine line between intentionally styled and genuinely wrecked, tipping just over the edge on the broken side, and it was the perfect sort of human fragility that Marco wanted to capture on film. 

Marco’s hands acted on their own, reaching up to tousle Jean’s hair until it no longer looked like a messy comb back, but a comb back that had gotten messed up. 

“That’s it."

“Good. One more.” 

Working with Jean was easy. Marco gave the directions, Jean knew what he meant. There wasn’t a pose he couldn’t get with the right hints. “Now turn your head a little left but keep looking into the camera.” 

Jean was too beautiful. 

The lens of the camera didn’t make it any better. Marco began to look at Jean as part of an aesthetic project, his mind set on achieving beauty. He began to look at the details of an artwork, trying to find out just how far he could stretch the theme before it snapped. Sometimes he went wrong, but it didn’t weigh up to how many excellent shots he got. 

It could be just because it was Jean. It could be because Marco was biased, but suddenly Marco had boundless confidence that he was going to ace this project.

“Alright. I think we’re done.” 

“Wait, wait. I want a snow angel,” Jean said, flopping back onto his back and swiping his arms and legs to create an angel shape. Marco laughed, taking a couple shots of the adorable scene. “And this one.” Jean raised a hand as if to halt Marco, turning to his side and striking a flawless french girl pose. He waved Marco over to take a picture from another angle, fighting to relax his smile into a genuinely sultry look.

Marco was going to have to avoid looking at that one for too long. 

As Marco scrolled through his pictures, quickly assessing his work, Jean came jogging up to him with a chuckle on his lips. “Sorry. Got carried away.” He shuffled close, the barely remaining warmth radiating off his skin as he tried to peer over Marco’s shoulder. “Have you taken a look?”

“They’re looking really good,” Marco began, smile spreading as he turned the camera to let Jean look with him. “They look so good, Jean. God, look at you.” Marco grinned, eyes widening as they landed on a particular picture and quickly zooming in on it. He bit his lip. Close up, the picture was everything he hoped for. The quality was excellent; the lighting, the pose, the expression… Jean… 

“Can you zoom out a bit?” Jean asked. Without question, Marco complied. “Huh. That does look good.” Marco cocked an eyebrow and it was with a delay that Jean realised how that must have sounded. “Oh, no no! Not as in, like, I’m surprised you take good pictures. Of course you do. But like, it’s just weird seeing my own face in the center of a picture that’s… that looks so professional.” 

“You can tick modeling off of the never have I ever list, hm?” Marco grinned, giving Jean a little nudge with his elbow. “Thanks.”

“Glad to help you.” Jean smiled, that soft, stunned look still lingering on his face. He looked almost vulnerable, unsure, eyes going skittishly over Marco’s own expression. Marco didn’t know if it was sheer disbelief at the pictures he’d taken or another thought crossing Jean’s mind, but there was something in the way Jean looked at him. It was soul deep, something heart wrenching, full of a want that wasn’t as raw as it was on other days. Something fond, something longing… Marco got caught in it. Marco wanted to kiss him, but there was something in the air that made him respond to the familiar urge as if drawn by the slowest magnetic pull. 

Jean took the smallest step back. “It’s kinda cold.” Jean gestured behind him. “Uh, do we go inside?” 

“Yeah. We’re done,” Marco answered too quickly, “Sure.” 

* * *

"Hey, artist," Jean spoke up, voice still groggy with sleep. Jean was never one to wake up early on the weekends. "How's it coming along?" 

Marco grinned. “Really good,” he said, “They’re coming out fantastic, Jean. Thank you so much.” Marco turned in his desk chair, looking away from the picture he was editing to face Jean. Wobbly standing to his feet, he looked as dreary as he sounded.

“Good,” Jean mumbled, taking Marco’s wrist and moving his arm out of the way. He blinked his eyes and cleared his voice, tiredly sitting himself down on the available part of Marco’s leg. "You feeling better?" 

“Much better.” Marco smiled up at Jean, trying not to think of the proximity as the silence lasted. He was reminded of yesterday, of the way Jean looked at him with a much softer edge, of Marco almost reading into it, but he refused to linger on the thought. 

Jean seemed to wake up a bit more. "I gotta go get a book from the library,” he said, straightening his back, creating distance.

Could Jean see it, what was on Marco's mind?

“Wanna move there?" 

"Sure." Marco reached for his laptop to close the lid and pack up, but a hand grabbed his and stopped him. 

"No hurry. I'm gonna take a long hot shower first," Jean added, a suggestive wink suddenly falling into a playful scowl. "Someone had me sit in the cold yesterday." 

Jean couldn't know. Jean was acting much too casual, much too normal around Marco to know that Marco was breaking the terms of their agreement. 

Something was different, though. Marco couldn't pinpoint it. Jean seemed to pull away from him at random times, as if he sensed something was amiss. 

Maybe those where the moments Marco knew he wanted more than Jean did. 

Walking into the entrance of the library, Marco had to smile to himself. It was one of the halls where the college arranged for artwork by its own students to be displayed. Tapping Jean on the shoulder, he pointed at the frames on the wall. 

“You could be seeing your own face here very soon.” Marco grinned smugly. He expected Jean to splutter, expected him to deny or threaten to take it down, but instead, he only shrugged and smiled back. 

“Someone should make art of your face.”

Completely stunned, Marco almost forgot to keep walking, almost tripping over his feet the instant he remembered. It didn't make sense. He blinked, eyes still on Jean, who seemed entirely unconcerned by what he’d said. If Jean knew anything, anything at all, it made no sense for him to both pull away and put an extra dose atop of the usual sweetness. 

Jean looked back at him, “What?” 

Marco still didn’t have a response. He didn’t dare think anything of it, but at the same time, there was no denying the electricity in his veins at the fond sound of the compliment. 

“Earth to Marco?” A sharp jab in his side startled Marco, almost making him yelp out in surprise. He barely managed to bite his lip, turning to Jean with a miffed glare. 

Jean was grinning wickedly. 

“No, no,” Marco warned, “Not this again. You’re not causing a scene in the library.” His words were ineffective; Jean tried to poke at his ribs again, but Marco dodged out of his reach. Jean didn’t give up, trying again and again until Marco was almost jogging to keep away from him. 

When Marco was faced with a pair of glass doors at the end of the hall, he focused his approach on Jean, grabbing him firmly by both shoulders and stopping them dead in their tracks. He tried to scowl, to chastise, but he was biting on a grin of his own. “We’re going to be banned from this place.” 

Jean laughed quietly, his hands coming to rest on Marco’s waist and his gaze jerking up. 

“Did you see that?” he asked, and no, Marco had no idea what was going on until he followed the other’s line of sight. 

Even the library couldn’t escape Christmas. The doors were decorated with green garlands and twigs, hints of red and silver giving it vibrancy, and in the middle, where the doors parted, the greatest cliche of all.

Mistletoe. 

Marco looked back down at Jean, smiling ear to ear at the opportunity to get a kiss, but it fell just as quickly when Jean closed his eyes and let him seize it. 

There was something not right. 

Jean didn’t know how Marco felt. It wasn’t fair on either of them. 

Marco couldn’t.

Not now. Not today. 

Not with the way Jean had looked at him last night; admiration and fondness, and not with the way he had looked at him this morning; content and vulnerable. 

Not with the way Jean was looking at him just moments ago; pure energy and joy. 

“No,” Marco whispered, turning his head away. “I… no.”

Jean opened his eyes and gave him a questioning look. He turned to look around them, the hallways quiet on a Saturday morning. 

“The hall’s empty.”

“No,” Marco repeated.

He couldn’t. If he did, one way or another, things would go wrong. Things would get worse. 

“Okay.” 

Marco followed as Jean pushed the door open, glad to let the silence bury the topic, even if it was uncomfortably so. 

At the end of the day Marco’’s eyes burned from looking at his laptop screen for too long and Jean complained about a sore neck. Plopping down next to each other on the bed, it was no surprise that Marco soon felt curious hands running up his arms, fingers pressing into tense muscles at his shoulders. He let out a deep hum and sighed, feeling himself relax, and still… 

Still, he couldn’t do it. 

“Jean,” Marco began, pushing himself off of the mattress to turn around, but he stopped before he did. He couldn’t look at Jean. He couldn’t look Jean in the eyes and give him a reason, couldn’t explain what had changed. He couldn’t find the right words, couldn't decide on an action… couldn’t take the risk. 

“See,” Jean spoke up, barely above a whisper. “I thought so.” 

Marco didn’t know what Jean thought he knew. Marco didn't know anything anymore. 

“You’re done with me, are you?”

Marco’s eyes widened. “It’s not like that--”

“It’s fine,” Jean cut in, but honestly, the second Marco looked at Jean, his expression looked far from it. “There’s always an end. If you don’t want me anymore, say it.”

“Jean…” Marco hesitated, unsure what to make of the sudden conflict of emotions. He felt guilt creep up on him; guilt for keeping Jean in the dark about a problem that he had apparently been able to sense the presence of, that, by the way he spoke, Jean was taking out on himself. 

“I want to know,” Jean stated, “If it’s done, let it be done.”

“It’s not done!” Marco said, the truth beginning to spill over under the pressure. “It should be, alright? Maybe. But I can’t let you go.” 

Jean frowned. Marco stopped looking. 

“I don’t want it to be over,” Marco confessed, “Jean, I'm sorry for acting this way lately. I don't know what I want anymore." Marco tried to gather his thoughts, but he knew he going to babble. It was too much and it was too complex. Especially unprepared, how was he ever going to explain? "What we have is good. You matter to me. You are my friend, and I don't want anything to change. I am so accustomed to you, in tune with you, I am happy with you and I,” Marco took a deep breath, “I am falling in love with you.” 

The colour immediately drained from Jean’s face. “What?”

“I know. I know I wasn’t meant to and I should have said it sooner, but I--”

Jean stopped him, holding him steady by both shoulders and fixing him with big, perplexed eyes. “What?” 

Marco blinked back. His eyes stung. “What?’ 

Jean didn’t speak, but the hand that glided up to cup Marco’s jaw seemed to speak louder than words. The touch was tender, gentle, slow… There was no doubt. Marco could see it easily now. It was unexpected, but it was clear as day and Marco wasn’t about to overthink it. 

Jean dove forward and claimed his lips, the change in emotion immediately obvious. It was a new desperation, a new kind of longing… Drawing Jean close against himself, Marco soaked up a whole ocean of new sensations. It was as if a new connection had formed; light and sweet, warm and soothing, bringing a layer of something new into their touch, something atop of the familiar pleasure. 

Jean’s hands slid under his clothes like they so often had, but they weren’t as hungry as before. They were demanding still, lustful still, but they came with a tenderness that hadn’t been there before- that had been there, perhaps, but that had only now been set free. 

It seeped into Marco’s skin. It was all so familiar. It was Jean, Jean's touch, Jean's needs, but there was something extra. There was Jean's heart and it made Marco ache for more with an unfamiliar, gentle, warm passion. 

Marco could feel himself stutter as he pulled Jean on top of him, but it was no matter. 

This craving that he didn’t know existed, this was what he had been waiting for. 

* * *

By the end of the semester, Jean’s picture was indeed up on the wall in the library. 

When everyone had finally completed the last papers, they gathered with a small group at a lounge bar, just to relax and talk the stress off before heading for their respective holiday plans. 

Jean was going to visit his family and they hadn't quite managed to move as fast as to have Marco go with him, but that was alright. There was no hurry. 

The fear was gone, somehow. In another semester, graduation would still separate them, but with what they had gone through and established the past few weeks, Marco felt no more worry. One more semester was more than enough to figure this out. 

He couldn’t know what the future would hold. If there was something he learned, it was that he needed to stop trying to find out. 

“I’ll say it if nobody else is going to.” Eren sat up straighter, pointing directly at Jean and Marco across from him. He cocked an eyebrow, raising a challenge. “I’m sensing a different atmosphere on that couch over there.” 

It was beyond obvious. They hadn’t actually said anything out loud, but it showed in everything they did. Marco had his ankle hooked around Jean’s, legs pressed flush together, leaning into his side like a tired boyfriend, and that was exactly what it was. 

Jean grinned. “Jealous, Yeager?” 

“I’d say go fuck yourself, but…” Eren shrugged, gaze shifting to Marco.

Marco met his eyes, an equally expectant look drawing on his face. Eren never finished the sentence.

“Congratulations,” Mikasa spoke up instead, “I think this works better for you two.”

Marco looked over at Jean, their eyes locking in a moment of silent agreement. There was no denying; no need to and no want to. Mikasa and Armin picked up a quiet conversation again, leaving them to themselves, but it only lasted until a mocking cough sounded. 

“When’s the wedding?”

Marco rolled his eyes, but couldn’t be bothered to look away from Jean. He had never seen this coming. He hadn’t thought that instead of worse, things were going to get better. 

So, so much had changed. So much was new. 

He was certain that there was one more item that Jean and him could both no longer claim.

Never have I ever fallen for a friend. 


End file.
